sábado, 20 de junio de 2009

Funny Story

Saying bye to Puri, and having little Beatriz read the note about her grandma helping us pay the bills so we could eat, and take advantage of the opportunity to travel around Spain, and other neighboring countries. I mean, I meant for her to read it, but maybe the whole family didn't need to... Needless to say, she enjoyed it, and seemed happy that I'd even bothered to say goodbye since not everyone did. What can I say, despite the extravagant cost of living, I really did grow to like Puri, or maybe we just had a mutual respect for one another that I appreciated over time. Whatever it was, the card reading moment was priceless!

Me pongo triste

The packing is always when it hits me.
When the last person walks out the door, when I turn in the keys, when I start telling people the date I'll no longer be in town, those are all guaranteed signs that I'm leaving. But what really gets me to break down is taking the pictures off the walls, figuring out what clothes I want to wear in the last three or four days so they can go on top and not on the bottom of the maleta, writing farewell cards, and looking at my empty room and remembering all the memories that a place holds for me.

I jumped on my sheet-less, blanket-less bed because I'll never sleep there again. I spent hours in the living room writing cards to friends and co-workers I may never see again, and thought of how they've shaped my experience here. I am constantly flabbergasted by the number of people I have to say goodbye to. Between, school, church, tutoring, and hanging out in the streets, I've gotten to know faces and people. Many of them are just conocidos who wish me well in the future wherever I end up, but some are much more than that, and I have to do my best to tell them so.

In my last weeks here, I've realized that a ton of people don't like saying goodbye, and sometimes I don't either. I've also realized, I'm not always so good at saying how I feel about people, or what they've meant to me. I can write it down beautifully, pero me ponga nerviosa decirlo en voz alta. I don't know why. Maybe it's because it would sound so cheesy, even though it's genuinely how I feel. Like when I say "Ana de mi alma", "ojos del encanto", or "te echare de menos..." I'm being serious. Coming up with a list of the reasons why though is when it gets difficult to keep talking out loud. Luckily I can write, and my writing in Spanish, I've been told, is almost flawless. I still laugh when I hear that, but I do relish the compliment.

Anyhow, while I get sad, I hope Espana and all the people I've met here, will stya strong in my absence. Try not to miss me too much. Os echare de menos, pero volvere;)

lunes, 8 de junio de 2009

Being 25

I've spent the last month telling myself "I am 25" so that when the birthday actually came and people started asking me how old I was, I wouldn't get confused. Tragic, but it's happened to me before, so now I give myself a little practice time way in advance. Luckily for me, venticinco slides off the tongue a little more easily than venticuatro, so I actually prefer to say it.

Now that I'm actually 25, I realize it's not old... then again, I bet 50 year olds are telling themselves the same thing. The thing is, I'm not suddenly moving slowly, wrinkling, or sagging. That stuff happens gradually anyway. But it does feel different, like at this age I ought to have new responsibilities and obligations... to myself.

So, I spent the turning 25 weekend at the beach with Ana de mi alma, who threw a surprise birthday party with the help of the Cheers crowd that hangs out at the Bodeguita. (If there were a reality show taped on Matalascanas, the cameras would have to stay at this little bar. Between the comedy, the singing, and the dramatically overplayed anger, the cameras could actually keep rolling 24/7 and air footage without any cuts.) We'd gone there earlier in the day, and Ana must have told everyone the day before that it was my birthday, so people, some of whom I'd just met, kept wishing me a feliz cumpleanos and asking how old I was (good thing I practiced). When we went back later on, and after a half hour or so, I took a servicio trip with Ana, who said she was mareada from all the vino... odd I thought. Then, when we came back downstairs, and she was shouting "mareada, mareada!" I knew something was up, I just didn't know exactly how it would play out.... Cut to the Bodeguita at the bottom of the stairs: Lights out! Cake! And a roomful of people singing "cumpleanos a ti, cumpleanos a ti, te deseamos todo, cumpleanos a ti!"

So, lessons learned this weekend and in the past week, other than the fact that a birthday only lasts 24 hours (unless you start shopping a week early, and extend it with chocoterapia):
  • LOVE YOURSELF
  • there's a difference between loving someone and loving them well
  • sing happy birthday to yourself in the mirror when you wake up, it will set the day off RIGHT
  • if 34 isn't old, 25 is like fresh out of the womb
  • it is possible to still be in love after 30+ years of marriage
  • good friends are priceless and often come unexpectedly
  • overexaggerate and damn near shout when speaking another language, it sounds crazy in your head, but people will know what you're saying
  • how to say Nia in Spanish: pretend you have a lisp, and stick your tongue out between your teeth a little, otherwise you'll be mistaken for Lia, Nina, or even Ina by some abuelas...
  • having a place where everyone knows your name is like my goal in life, and I seem to have achieved it in Bollullos Par del Condado
  • sad movies can be good when well acted (case in point, The Namesake or El Buen Nombre)
  • cleaning and doing laundry is a great way to pass the time
  • nothing comes exactly when you want it to, but surprises are often welcomed